Chapter 2 - The Job That Wasn't a Job
Dominic's house was not a house.
It was a fortress with landscaping.
A stone estate sat behind iron gates outside Boston, surrounded by dark trees and tall walls.
I arrived the following afternoon.
My new contract was waiting on a desk.
The salary made me stare.
For one month, I would make more than I had made in the previous year.
Medical coverage was included.
Transportation was included.
My mother would have her hospital bills covered.
I hated how tempting that was.
Dominic watched me read.
“You don't have to sign.”
“Then why offer?”
“Because I need you.”
“You don't even know me.”
“I know enough.”
“About what?”
“You notice details.”
He leaned back.
“You don't drink at work. You don't accept rides from coworkers. You count the register twice. You always check the back door before closing.”
I stared at him.
“You've been watching me.”
“Yes.”
“That should bother me.”
“It probably does.”
“It does.”
He nodded.
“Good.”
I signed.
The first week was strange.
I worked private events.
Family dinners.
Business meetings.
Charity galas.
I learned Dominic's world.
Nobody laughed too loudly around him.
Nobody touched his shoulders.
Nobody sat with their back to the door.
Nobody asked questions about bloodstains.
I never saw anyone get hurt.
But I saw enough to understand why people whispered.
One night, I entered the kitchen carrying a tray.
Two men were talking quietly.
“Rossi is making a move.”
“Dominic knows.”
“He can't know.”
“He knows everything.”
I stopped.
They looked at me.
One man said:
“Bartender.”
I continued walking.
When I reached the dining room, Dominic looked up.
“What did you hear?”
“Nothing.”
He stared.
“Lena.”
I sighed.
“Rossi is making a move.”
His eyes hardened.
“Who told you?”
“Two men in the kitchen.”
“Did they see you listening?”
“Yes.”
He stood.
“From now on, nobody speaks around you.”
“That seems unrealistic.”
He almost smiled.
“You're starting to understand.”
The next week, someone broke into my apartment.
Nothing valuable was stolen.
My drawers were opened.
My closet searched.
My mother's photograph moved.
That frightened me more than theft.
Dominic arrived before the police.
“You're staying at my house.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“I have a lease.”
“Cancel it.”
“You can't keep solving everything with money.”
His expression changed.
“I can solve this with security.”
He handed me a key.
“Guest wing.”
I looked at it.
“You really expect me to sleep under your roof?”
“I expect you to stay alive.”
I took it.
That night, I couldn't sleep.
At two in the morning, I went downstairs.
Dominic was in the kitchen.
Alone.
No jacket.
No tie.
Making coffee.
“You can't sleep either?”
He looked at me.
“No.”
I sat across from him.
“Do you ever?”
“Rarely.”
“Why?”
He looked at the coffee.
“People die when I stop paying attention.”
I didn't know what to say.
Then he asked:
“Why do you bartend?”
I laughed softly.
“Because my degree was useless.”
“What degree?”
“Chemistry.”
That caught his attention.
“You have a chemistry degree?”
“Yes.”
“Why aren't you using it?”
“My father died when I was twenty-two. My mother got sick. I needed money.”
“Your father?”
“Construction.”
“Name?”
“Daniel Marino.”
Dominic went still.
I noticed.
“You know him?”
“No.”
The answer came too quickly.
I frowned.
“You're lying.”
He looked at me.
“Maybe.”
“What did you know about him?”
“He once worked for someone in my father's organization.”
My heart stopped.
“My father?”
“Yes.”
“You knew him?”
“I knew his name.”
“Did you hurt him?”
“No.”
“Did your father?”
Dominic didn't answer.
I stood.
“I need to know.”
He looked at me.
“Your father was not what you think.”
That sentence changed everything.
“What do you mean?”
“He wasn't a construction worker.”
My chest tightened.
“He ran security logistics.”
“What does that mean?”
“He moved people.”
“People?”
“Witnesses. Employees. Families.”
I stared.
“He worked for your father?”
“Yes.”
“Why did my mother never tell me?”
“Because your father wanted you far away from this.”
“Where is he now?”
Dominic looked at me.
“You said he died.”
“He did.”
“Then how?”
“Car accident.”
Dominic was silent.
I knew immediately.
“You don't believe he died.”
“No.”
My hands shook.
“Why?”
“Because the accident report was manufactured.”
My world tilted.
“You've known this?”
“I suspected.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because I didn't know whether you were part of the reason someone was trying to kill me.”
I stepped back.
“You thought I might be?”
“Yes.”
I laughed bitterly.
“And you hired me anyway.”
“I needed to know.”
“Know what?”
“Whether you were connected.”
I stared at him.
“And am I?”
His eyes remained on mine.
“Yes.”
My stomach dropped.
“How?”
“Your father left something behind.”
“What?”
“A ledger.”
I remembered my mother mentioning a box years ago.
I had forgotten about it.
“What kind?”
“The kind people kill for.”
Then the lights in the kitchen went out.
Dominic stood immediately.
A gun appeared in his hand.
“Stay behind me.”
A window shattered.
I ducked.
Two shots.
Then silence.
Dominic grabbed my wrist.
We ran.
He pushed me into a hidden room.
“Stay here.”
“What about you?”
“I'll handle it.”
Before he left, I saw blood on his shirt.
“Dominic.”
“I'm fine.”
“You're bleeding.”
“Not mine.”
He disappeared.
Ten minutes later, he returned.
“It wasn't an attack.”
I stared.
“Then what?”
“A warning.”
He held up a photograph.
My father.
Standing beside Dominic's father.
And between them was a black ledger.
On the back was one sentence.
THE DAUGHTER KNOWS WHERE IT IS.
I looked at Dominic.
“I don't.”
“I believe you.”
“Then why are they coming after me?”
May you like
He stared at the photograph.
“Because I think someone believes you know more than you do.”
